A Fire in the Night
by happilyeverafter18
Summary: Jane Garrets, detective, had many foster homes, but in one there was an evil bigger than she should have ever had to face as a child. She now faces those evils as a cop, but will her past come back to haunt her?
1. Chapter 1

A Fire in the Night

By _Happillyeverafter18_

Chapter 1:

I remember my childhood distantly, like a movie I haven't seen in ages, almost like they are someone else's memories instead of mine. The happiest ones? There is no question which those are, for those are the ones I remember best.

I was small during that period of my life. My father called me his "Little Peanut." I was probably four or five years old. My father Jesse Garrets, a tall laughing man with messy brown hair, creamy skin, and jolly emerald eyes, was an artist. He lived for the swirl of color and the brush of acrylics on paper, but he also lived for me.

Who else could he live for? My mother had died the night of my birth. I killed her before she could even see me. Daddy named me Jane. He told me many times about my name and reincarnation-which he believed in. He said maybe I'd grow up to help the monkeys like Jane Goodwin. Maybe I'd write classic romances like Jane Austen. Mostly he hoped that I would be like Jane Maria Candelaria. Who was she? My mother. . I look just like her, or so he told me. I have thick, black curly hair and dark Latin eyes. I have her Spanish skin, and her full lips, but I also have my dad in me. I am brave and laugh easily, like him. I look at his pictures, and I see myself in the subtle curve of his nose, the stretch of his smile. We were so alike, so we spent our days not as Father and Daughter but as best friends. We needed each other; how could we not? It was just the two of us in our quaint, modest cottage in the middle of the big, bad forest. Dad and I against the world.

When I think of my happiest memories, foremost comes into my mind the camping trips. Every weekend we'd explore the trail and pitch the tent wherever we ended up. My favorite part about those excursions into the unknown was the nights spent by firelight. We'd sing and laugh until I was falling asleep on my feet. My father's laughing face would become that of an indulgent parent. Thus would begin our battle of "I'm not tired!" and "Yes you are!"

He would smile and shake his head, trying to persuade me into my sleeping bag "Come on, Jay. No need to push yourself."

I would never listen, whining and carrying on. "But Da-addeeee!!! I'm not t-i-i-oid! Really!" I'd say through huge yawns. He'd just laugh and offer his shoulder for a head rest.

I'd eventually drift off to dreamland- a place of random pictures I could never make sense of when I'd wake up. I would fall asleep, my head on Daddy's shoulder with his arm and thick blanket draped over me.

When I would greet the day those weekends, I'd find myself in my sleeping bag, Daddy's comforter set lovingly on top.

Then it all went down hill. His paintings weren't selling, and money was tight. He took up residence with the couch and his new best friend- Guiness beer, Ireland's finest. So as Daddy drowned in the drink, I found myself abandoned on the weekends. No more camping trips for Jane. I knew they were done, but I found myself always asking Friday night if I needed to get out the tent and sleeping bags. "No," he's say. "I'm afraid I'm just too tired, Jane. Why don't you go down to the park? I did that a lot when I was a kid."

It was through the drink that I realized he still blamed me for mom. I was only eight years old when I came to school with evidence of his anger on my arms. Bruises covered my arms and back, some an ugly yellow, others fresh and purple. It took me six months of this abuse to finally break down to my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Jagreem.

I explained through my sobs Daddy's entanglement with his bottle. I asked her why he didn't love me anymore and why he couldn't stop. I showed her my bruises, and I explained that maybe he did love me, but he loved the drink better. I explained how I had killed my mother, and how he blamed me for it. Then I told her about his latest beating.

_I came home from school, and I did homework. I made dinner just like every other night, but when I said grace, I mentioned my mother. Nothing much was different after that. He maybe grabbed an extra bottle or two, but that was all I noticed. It was after dinner that it happened._

_I was playing jacks in the living room. I was up to foursies. He told me how my mother loved jacks, but then I must have made some degrading comment about my mother's ability to play jacks or something. I didn't know; I was just a little kid. He stood up off the couch in a drunken rage. "How DARE you say that about her! She was amazing, you little brat! Why'd you kill her, huh?" he screamed._

_I stammered through the blows of his fists, "I, I, I didn't mean it, Daddy! Please, please stop! Please Daddy! Please stop! I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! I didn't mean to do it; I was just a little baby! Please Daddy! Oh, Daddy, please. Please stop…" I broke down to tears. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why couldn't he love me more than the beer? Why didn't he love me more than my dead mother? Why did he blame me?_

_He continued shrieking, "What did you do with her?! Why'd you take her away from me?! Why wasn't it you?!" He then collapsed into tears mumbling for his "Sweet, sweet Jay-May."_

_I took refuge in my room after that. I nursed my wounds; I fought back more tears until I fell asleep. I woke up the next day very sore, covered in bruises, with the stickiness of tears shed in the night upon my face._

The next Saturday after my tearful confession, these people came to visit us. Their names were Miss Kiang, Mr. Carmel, and Mr. Welch. I was overjoyed that we had company. I finally had someone new with whom I could play. I was so naïve.

The people "visited" for about an hour. Daddy just stood there, in a drunken stupor. Once in a while he'd get this resigned, pent-up annoyance sort of look on his face, but it would pass to be filled with sorrow. They packed a pink duffel bag full of my clothes, telling me how I was going to a sleepover. Again, I was deliriously happy; I mean, it was my first sleepover at eight years old. Then they grabbed me by the arm, leading me towards our front door.

Suddenly Daddy started to talk to them. He was very sad and angry, and I knew that when I came back from the sleepover, he wouldn't be happy. He got up into Miss Kiang's face. He yelled, "Who do you think you are taking my little girl from me?! Where you taking her you-" he then used a VERY bad word. I was stunned. He'd only ever said those when he'd been up all night drinking. He'd been doing pretty well since hurting me. He told he was sorry when I came home from school the day of my nervous breakdown.

He then turned to me, all anger and grief smoothed over. In its place was a face of a kind, understanding man. He said, "Jay, Sweetheart, don't go away. I was going to take you camping tonight just like you wanted. Won't it be fun?"

I looked at his face, surprise warring with joy. He'd called me Jay; he hadn't called me Jay since I was six, but I still wasn't going to miss my first sleepover. We could go camping tomorrow. "But Daddy, I WANT to go we can always camp when I come back."

He got down on his knees, and he clasped my arms, looking me fully in the face. "But, Jay, don't you understand? If you go with them, you will never come back. I'll never see you again. Where will I be without you? Where would I go? What would I do? With whom would I go camping? I, I, I love you, Sweetheart. Please don't go away." And he was crying. I didn't want to go if it made Daddy sad. Daddy finally loved me more then his bottle; I couldn't leave him. I reached out to him, only to have Mr. Carmel pull me back.

I looked up into Mr. Carmel's face, eyes wide and innocent, "Let GO. I don't want to go anymore. Please?" But he pulled me back, ignoring wails to my father. I screamed and sobbed as I was hauled out to the truck. Daddy followed his eyes shiny with unshed tears. I'd wanted my Daddy to come back to be, not to have him taken away from me. It was wrong. It was all wrong.

They put me in the back seat and buckled me up. I sat there screaming like a caged animal as I pulled at the restraint of the seat belt. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. It was useless. Why wouldn't they let me go? Why couldn't I stay with Daddy? Then Daddy was at my window. He laid his palm against the glass, and my shrieks quieted. I pulled my hand up to his; the only thing separating us was the wall of glass. Suddenly an idea came to me. I pushed the button to roll down the window, and it rolled down lazily. Finally SOMETHING worked.

Daddy cupped my chin lovingly, "Remember, Jay. I love you- always have, always will Don't forget me and where you came from because sometimes it will be your only comfort. Be brave for me. I'm sorry I did all this to you. I love you, Baby. Goodbye, Jay." Then he kissed my cheek and stepped back from the truck.

I lurched forward, and my bottom lip trembled with suppressed sobs. The truck made its escape, and I watched my father's receding figure until it was gone from sight. The smell of his beer still hung in my hair. "I love you too, Daddy. I won't forget."

That is the last memory I have of my father- him standing in the driveway, waving good-bye in his plaid blue boxers and white t-shirt, unshaven and smelling of Guiness. The rest of my childhood I try to forget, but the pain bears through my shaky defenses, like a fire in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:The below mentioned movie scenes are from The Sound of Music, Sixteen Candles, Poltergeist and The Princess Bride. These movies are not my idea, they are the product of awesome screenwriters, actors, and directors and that sort of stuff. Laula-X helped me decide on the name Jared. Please read and review. Thanks!

Chapter 2

I walk down the ceramic pot lined streets of Chicago, confident and joyful. I don't think I've been this happy since I got out of there. THERE, my heart automatically starts pounding at the thought of that place. I'm filled with dread at the thought, but I shake it off. Tonight I do not despair; I celebrate! I take a left and walk past three storefronts before stopping, my head held high and an amazed smile on my face. Finally, no more am I Officer Garrets. I am Detective Jane, twenty-six year old bombshell.

Jared waves me over. He calls out, "Detective Jay, I have our table right here." I smile, excited by the declaration of my new stance. The table is a modern black and white booth. He already has our usually appetizers on the table- pickled ginger and seaweed salad. No, Jared's not my boyfriend. We've known each other since we were little. We're best friends; I don't know what I would have done without him. He would ask, "How did we stay sane in that place?" My answer would be, "I don't know," but I'd really be thinking, "How did I live through that? How did I not kill myself?" I know the answer: Jared. Ever seen _When Harry Met Sally_? He's my Harry.

I plop down in the vinyl seat and smile triumphantly. I still can't get over it. _Detective Garrets. Detective Jane Garrets. Detective Jane Jesse Garrets. Detective Jay. Detective. Detective. Detective. _If only Dad could see me now, he'd be so proud. His little Jay is a detective.

Jared prompts, "So? How do you feel? What do you think? Just stop smiling and say something!"

I laugh. "I have to thank that burglar some day; without him I wouldn't be a detective…" I stop there, loving the words _I _and_ detective_ in the same sentence. "God, I'm a detective! I can't believe it!" I squeal.

Jared shakes his head. "I haven't seen you this happy since our high school graduation!"

"I know! I think it's above being accepted into cop school, but just below graduation."

He gets this surprised look on his face. "This is tied with your eighteenth birthday??? I'm shocked, Jay! That's one of the happiest days of your life!"

I laugh and say, "Remember that part in _The Sound of Music_-"

He finishes, "Where Maria comes back from the abbey and joins in singing _My Favorite Things_?"

I nod, "Yeah, I think I might be even happier than the kids."

He smiles, "I always loved the part where they're saying goodbye at the party and all the guests move to the other side of the room and wave and sing good-bye. I mean, who would do that in real life? It's so rehearsed that it's hilarious!"

I shake my head, "How many times have we talked about that part? I know already!"

He shrugs, "It's still pretty funny."

I point my french-fry at him, "Yes, it certainly is. You know what's even funnier?" That's the thing about _Shanghaied_, the restaurant we're eating at. It's most known for its sushi, but it also has the best fries in the whole entire world. Only regulars like Jared and I know this.

He guesses, "Long Duck Dong jumping from that tree and body slamming Jake Ryan?"

I shake my head, "Nope. Keep guessing."

"Ummm, when the mom yells out, 'don't go into the light'?

I shake my head, "Nnnnnope," popping the P.

"Uh, when Miracle Max and his wife say, 'have fun storming the castle'?

I make this sound like a wrong buzzer.

"Jane, I don't know! What?"

I laugh and shake my head, "You have to guess."

Jared is really having a hard time. He finally resorts to bribes, "I'll buy all the eel you want if you just tell me the answer. Please?" He's even batting his eyelashes. Jared has this straight black hair, not like my sort of rich blackish brown. No, his is like this black that keeps going and going. It sucks up all the light that hits it. His skin is a peaches and cream color which is really clear but used to be covered in tons of zits. He bows before his dermatologist daily. He has these hazy green eyes that are a sort of forest green and brown. His eyelashes are long and brown, and so when he does bat them, it's super dramatic.

I finally concede. He knows my weakness; eel is my favorite. "Hannah's face when Detective Banks slapped that new name plate on my desk. I swear, if she'd been anymore jealous, she'd have been green. Karma's action, definitely, especially since she started that rumor about me sleeping with Detective Banks. It was just TOO funny. You should have been there. You'd have loved it."

He rolls his eyes indulgently, "If your office were anymore high school, Hannah would be carrying pom-poms and the quarterback on her arms everyday."

I answered absentmindedly, "Yeah, I know. But your staff isn't exactly mature either. Didn't Mandy threaten to off herself again with the scalpel?" Jared works at the hospital. He's a neurosurgeon. Brain cancer? Jared can fix that. Hole in the skull? Jared can fix that too. Meningitis damage? Jared can probably fix that too. Jared is Mr. Fix-it Man in a white coat.

Jared yells, "Hey! Mandy hasn't tried to kill herself in a good two months, F.Y.I!"

I mumble something about her boyfriend being scared that she'd kill herself if he dumped her again. I ask accusatorily, "Hey, didn't you say dinner was on you when you called me?"

He nods and widens his eyes, trying to be innocent, "Jane, I can't help it if you are exceptionally reckless in your deal making."

I point at him (again with a french-fry lengthening my index finger) and yell, "You are such a cheater! You are SO covering eel next time!"

He smiles, "Hey, remember that time the emo girl-oh, what was her name? Jenna? Yeah, that was it- threatened to stab herself with that probe in biology?"

I laugh, "Oh my God, yes! And then the teacher called the office, and they…" We talk like that for the rest of the night, and I forget what I was even mad at him about.

Jared drives me home- my good old two square-inch house. He has this huge Jeep Wrangler, so I basically fall like two feet before I hit the concrete. He drives away calling out, "Pizza and movies at my place tomorrow! I'll call you with more details later!"

I shout after him, "Gotcha! See ya, Jare!"

I think I hear something like, "Bye, Detective Jay!" but I'm not sure because right then Charlie starts barking. LOUDLY. Charlie, or Charlene, is my Labrador and German Shorthair Pointer mix. I rescued her from a puppy mill in one of my first cases. She was one of many neglected pups. The mother was even worse off. I took her in too. I named her Daisy, but she didn't last the month. She probably would've died the night we rescued her if it wasn't for the anonymous call from the pay phone a block over.

I find my keys in my purse and fumble for the lock. My porch light is covered with so many spider webs, I have a permanent dimmer on the lantern. When I fling the door open, I get attacked by huge paws and a sloppy tongue. This is Charlie. She is my lovable little girl. She is currently training to be a police dog. I can't wait to get her out there with me.

I put my purse down, and take the leash out of the desk in the living room. I hike up the steep, winding stairs up to the bedroom Charlie and I share. Her crate and blanket lay in the corner. My queen is in the middle of the room, its headboard up against the wall. I throw off my supple brown leather jacket onto my bed and push the button to start the flow of missed calls and messages.

I start changing out of my black flare dress jeans and my white and blue pin-stripe button-down shirt. I lay out my paint splattered and fraying jeans I wore while painting earlier this summer and a long-sleeved white sweater. The machine starts in its monotone voice. "You have… 10….. missed calls." I whistle quietly. That's a lot. "You have…. 5…… messages." My forehead scrunches up in surprise; I certainly am popular tonight. Maybe it's a detective thing.

There's one message from Jared at 5:15 asking about the dinner we just had (I got there around six o'clock and right now it's about eight and almost getting dark. I better hurry up if I want to get Charlie on that walk.). Another is from my friend Angie from cop school asking how the burglary arrest went. (I can't wait to tell her about my new status.). Then the strangest thing happens. Detective Banks's voice starts playing. I wonder briefly if he'd heard about the rumor about my bed life… I shudder in horror. If he had heard it…. I could kiss my new name plate good-bye.

He says, "Garrets, it's me, Detective Banks. Call the office. It's urgent." I stop midway through pushing my head through my cable knit sweater. Then the next one, "Detective Garrets, we need you down here. Come down here, NOW." It sounds like a critical problem. I pull my sweater over my head. I'm in overdrive. I need to get down there, like, now. The final message plays. "Damn it, Garrets! We NEED you! Get DOWN here! Don't call first; just run down! I don't care if you are in sweats and a sports bra; just come!" I stuff my feet in my sneakers and fly down the stairs as the final beep that says I have no more messages plays. I clip Charlie to her leash and flip the lock on my way out.

The office is five blocks away. I think I get there in maybe two minutes. I thank God that I have been running at the gym (I am convinced that at some point I'm going to have to chase down bad guys on foot). This feels like nothing to the seven or eight miles I run on the treadmill. I burst through the doors, slightly breathless. Charlie is off worse than me. She can barely catch her breath.

I run down the hall to the room of desks and computers where we always are. Detective Banks is pacing back and forth. The minute I set foot in the office, he's all over me. He's absolutely hysterical. The other officers offer pleasantries as they scurry around the room. Hannah is a different story. She looks over the fingernails she'd just been examining. First, she glances at Charlie with a look of disdain. When she looks me up and down, her expression changes to one of disgust (even more so than normal). I make excuses, "I just got home. I was getting ready to take Charlie on a walk when I checked my messages. I came down here immediately. Sorry that I'm not in appropriate office attire."

Hannah rolls her eyes but says nothing. Banks says, "You're fine, Garrets. Now we need to-"

I interrupt, "So what's the emergency? Hannah break a nail?" I smirk. Hannah gives me this pissed look. Banks rolls his eyes.

He says, "It was the Dog Park. We got a call from a woman in hysterics. Says she was attacked out of nowhere. Just was sitting at the bench, reading, and then a man in black sweats just attacked her. We're suspecting rape, but that's what we need you here for, Detective. You need to go down to the hospital. Interview the victim. Get her to a rape kit. You'll find her in the ICU. She took severe brain damage." He stops there because all the blood has fallen from my face.

_Raped. A woman was raped at the dog park. Oh, not again. No. I can't take this. I escaped in 2000. No, I'll face this. He can't control me anymore. He has no control. He's gone. I'll do this. I'll figure it out. I'll be professional about this. _This is what I think. The color comes back to my face. Out loud I say, "I'm there."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

We drive down the city to the hospital in the squad car, Banks driving, me in the passenger seat, and Charlie sitting with her head in between the seats. She starts licking Banks's elbow, and I blush. I whisper to her, "Girl, you're a professional. No in-office relationships!"

She almost looks disappointed. I rummage around in my purse and pull out a dog biscuit. I toss it in back. I say to no one in particular, "That'll keep her busy." I mumble incoherently, "Now where is my cell?" I find it after pulling out everything in my bag. It just happens to be the last thing in there. _Figures_, I think.

I flip it open and turn it on. There are a couple messages from Banks. Then I press speed dial. Jared picks up and asks, "Hey, why did your boss call me?"

I glare at Banks, only he doesn't notice. I wonder if he called Angie and my dead father, too. I shake my head. "It's an emergency. We got a 9-1-1 from some lady at the dog park saying she was-"

He interrupts me, "Anna Borealis. She's in the recovery unit right."

I ask, "So she's out of surgery already?"

He snorts. I can almost hear him roll his eyes, "She hit her head. We suspect concussion. Why would we operate?"

"Banks told me it was severe brain damage. Hey, aren't you off tonight?"

He replies,, "Yeah, I was, but then I got called in for," we say in unison, "Anna Borealis."

I ask, "Anyways, has she said anything about um… you know?"

He stutters, "Uh, um… I-I think we should talk about this when you get here. You are coming, right?"

We pull into the hospital parking lot for the ICU. I pull the phone to my chest and say to Banks, "She's in recovery." He nods and moves on. I say to Jared, "Alright we're here. I'll meet you in her room." Then I hang up, and both Banks and I make our way out of the car.

Charlie whines from the back seat. She's staring at me with this look that's saying, "Why are you abandoning me? Take me with you!" I turn to Detective Banks and plead with him with my eyes.

He says, "Fine. She's on the job, but just for tonight. She's not official YET."

I jump in back and grab Charlie's leash. "Come on, Girl! Let's go talk to Anna!" I say joyously. She jumps out and barks, her stumpy tail going a mile a minute. We go into the hospital, and when we come to the reception desk a lady I don't recognize says, "No dogs in the hospital."

I ignore her and say, "We're here to see Anna Borealis."

The lady stares me down. She's got to be in her late thirties. She's kind of uptight looking and teacher-ish. She says, "Are you family members?"

I say, "No, but we're here to talk to-"

She repeats, "Only family can see Ms. Borealis right now."

"We're the detectives assigned to her case," Detective Banks growls. He's getting annoyed.

The woman narrows her eyes shrewdly, "Why should I believe you? Do you have anything that clarifies that you ARE detectives?"

I lean over to Banks and whisper, "Do you have your badge on you?"

He mumbles, "No, I've never had to identify myself in this hospital. I just figured we could walk right in. Why don't you have yours?"

I say, "My new one is being made still. My old one is in a drawer at home." He nods and frowns. I'm about to get out my phone to call Hailey, the neighbor kid who watches after Charlie while I'm not home. She's just gotten her license, so she jumps at every opportunity to drive, but right now, Jared's here, rescuing us from the mean receptionist.

"Clarissa! This is my friend, Detective Jane and her superior, Detective Banks. I was waiting for them up in Anna Borealis's room when I heard the commotion. Is there a problem?"

She averts her eyes, no very interested in her desktop. "No, Sir. I'm sorry. Please, Detectives, go ahead."

I follow Jared down the hall. As we walk side-by-side I whisper, "Aren't receptionists supposed to be um, I don't know? Nice?"

He laughed and murmured back, "Give her a break. She's new. She hasn't seen you yet skulking around and interrogating victims yet. Give her some time. Soon enough, you'll be best friends." He raises his eyebrows, knowing that my opinions of people hardly change.

I snort, "Oh, God that's so funny! Great joke! NOT."

He shakes his head and mumbles something like "stubborn" but I'm not sure because it's so quiet. I elbow him in the ribs just for good measure. He ignores me and stops, "This is her."

I nod and he goes in. Comes back out. "She's unconscious. You'll have to wait a while."

I ask him, "So what did she say that you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

He sits down, and Banks and I sit across from him. He says solemnly, "She woke up slightly in the ICU when we were still checking her out. She was hysterical, screaming and flailing around like she was being burned on the stake. We had to get Lance and his team to hold her down till we could sedate her. She was yelling, 'Don't touch me! Stop! Kyle! Stop! Get off me! I'll call the police, I swear!'" Jared stops and stares at me.

Banks asks, "So what makes you assume he was the rapist? What if this Kyle guy's her boyfriend?"

Jared says frankly, "His name."

Banks goes, "I don't get it. What's the significance of Kyle?"

Jared stares at me, and I'm pleading at him with my eyes _He doesn't know. Don't tell him! Please don't tell him! _But he doesn't listen to my silent cries.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Jane's staring at me. She's looking right at me like daggers. I can almost hear her saying, _Come on, Jare. You said you'd take this to the grave. Don't make and ass of yourself. _I know that I should keep the secret, but Detective Banks needs to know this. I say, ignoring Jane, "Kyle is dangerous. You don't mess with Kyle. At least not the Kyle I know."

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I grew up in foster homes. So did Jane. We met at the home, and we always saw each other in between new houses, new "homes." My mother was a drug addict, and my father traveled so much that if I didn't see him in six months, I didn't really notice. I mean, I did, but it wasn't unusual. Jane was weird for a foster kid. She expected that her father would get over his drinking and would show up and they'd live happily ever after. That hasn't happened, at least not yet. She also expected a lot out of every set of foster parents, and she was usually pretty sad when it didn't work out. That all stopped the minute we were sent to the Carstens'.

They were this small family- a dad, a mom, and their only child. Once mommy had the kid, she had to be sewed up for some reason, so they took in foster kids. One year when I was fifteen and Jane fourteen, this couple in their thirties came to the home, asking to foster two kids, about their son's age- a guy and a girl. Guess who fit that exact description? Yep, it was Jane and me. Their home was actually pretty cozy, and when we first got there, we never wanted to leave. It seemed like the perfect foster home. Jane was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, I don't think she would have been able to survive getting kicked out without being plopped in the wacky shack.

So Jane and I made a pact. We'd try our hardest ever to stay here. They were good to us, and the contract worked out pretty well, until probably the year Jane turned fifteen. That's when it all started, or at least when she says it started. I think it was probably going on longer, but I can't be sure. She can be so stubborn sometimes.

Mr. Carstens had always wanted a little girl. You could tell he really loved Jane. He'd hug her and tell her what a pretty girl she was. She'd just nod, wide eyed and silent until he'd turn away and lose interest. The night of her birthday, Jane says that he came into her bedroom. He kissed her goodnight, and then she says things got out of hand. She says he didn't do anything that night, except touch her, but I don't think so. She says she lost her virginity two weeks later- to Mr. Carstens.

I demanded that she tell the police, that we escape, but she refused. She said that he loved her. I think she was sort of trying to re-do her childhood- the one when she was happy and camping with her father. Jane sort of went down hill after that. She decided that since she'd already lost it, what could she lose with a bunch of other guys? She was the undercover school slut. She'd catch them late at night at drunken parties, and she'd never tell them her name. They were always too wasted to identify her. She was the perfect student, and she seemed to be the perfect child, at least to the untrained eye.

I didn't even know all this until the winter before her sixteenth birthday. We had a book report due the next day, and I had forgotten to read the book. So it was really late when I finished it- like 2 or 3 A.M. I figured I could just slide in and out of her room without waking her up, and the book would be safe and sound on the bookshelf when she'd wake up the next morning.

I remember what happened after that all too easily. To this day it still gives me nightmares- the sight of his spongy body on top of hers, jerking and growling. She was crying silently. Her tears shined in the moonlight. She was shaking her head back and forth, trying to deny what was happening to her. I closed the door and ran back to my room in shocked silence. The next morning when I came to return the book, there was still dried blood on the sheets. I confronted her about it, and she broke down, crying about how I couldn't tell anyone.

And I didn't. I don't know why, but I still regret it to this day. Maybe I hoped that if I ignored it, it'd go away. Maybe I hoped it was just a one time thing. Maybe I hoped it was some perverted nightmare. I don't know.

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I told this aloud, only in a more condensed version. "You know how Jane was a foster kid? Yeah, her foster dad raped her. Kyle Carstens- that's his name. The bastard stole every piece of innocence she ever had. She's only told me, and now I'm telling you. Fortunately, he was locked up for some insurance scandal after our graduation, so we've never heard from him again. He might be back. This could possibly be him."

Jane was huddling in her chair, thick black hair concealing her face. I knew that when she'd emerge, her eyes would be pink with dry tears. This proved true when she lifted her head and glared at me. One word passed between her full lips:

"**Asshole**."

Then she collapsed, head rolled back against the chair and arms limp.


End file.
